Skyrim Day 084 - The Dawnguard Rise

13 Sun's Dusk, 4E201

Falkreath

~~~

I barely slept last night despite the considerable comfort of the Grandmaster's quarters, too excited to finally march with the Dawnguard against the deadly, but misguided, vampires of Castle Volkihar. My excitement, however, is less to do with the Dawnguard's cause and more for being done with them entirely. Serana, too, was eager to leave early, no doubt for the same reason.

The only saving grace of the taking the eastern path from Winterhold to Windhelm is that no one else is masochistic enough to want to. The trip has the resilient traveler buffeted between winds screaming at her from the mountains at her right and a constant barrage of icy slush from the sea on her left. This continues even as the road does not halfway to the city, leaving you searching for a few Septims to pay for a local fisherman to ferry you from your side of the city's river over to the civilized side containing a road. It is an uneventful, miserable path.

A few Septims poorer, Serana and I set foot on the opposite shore and continued along the mountainside. Taking the road to Riften is easier, but slower and I feel both of us are in agreement that the quicker this is over with, the better.

We came upon an Orsimer fortress and I made to pass it by, but Serana wanted to stop to barter for some furs, her family's raiment being ill-suited for the cold. Inside we found few furs for the fortress protected a mine dug into the side of the mountain, providing the Orsimer with all the wealth they needed.

But the Chief gave me a tale of woe no wealth could alieve him of: every wife he has taken dies soon after, none of them providing him a son. He asked that I inquire about an 'Uglarz', a childhood friend of his whom he, for some reason, thought would make a good wife. Why he thinks Uglarz is still in Skyrim and also why she would consent to marry him (if she is not married already!) is certainly unwarranted optimism. At least the conversation gave Serana enough time to buy her pelts.

A Dragon roared over top our heads as we were leaving and we rushed back into the fort to prepare to battle alongside the Orsimer. But after roaring a bit more the Dragon flew back over the mountain to wherever it was calling home. They have been less aggressive as of late, though no less advertising.

We arrived at the entrance to Dayspring Canyon by mid-afternoon and did not experience the ambush we were anticipating.

Isran was more awed by seeing Auriel's Bow than I thought the dour man was capable of. He questioned whether Serana could be trusted in the battle ahead and I assured him she was just as eager to see Harkon de-throned as any one of us...possibly even more. He nodded once and turned to the assembling soldiers of the Dawnguard to address them.

The speech was the typical "This is our hour!" sort of thing, but the soldiers seemed to have appreciated it. I thought Serana and I would be traveling with them, but as the Dawnguard began to file out Isran turned and told us to meet them all at Castle Volkihar. Apparently we were to travel on our own.

So on our own we were, once again. We trailed behind the Dawnguard until Riften, where they turned north and we proceeded west, the more direct route. Isran is probably counting on stopping at Windhelm, Whiterun, or Solitude for supplies along the way.

While navigating the now-dark and icy pass between Ivarstead and Helgen we were accosted by a traveler in the escort of several mercenaries. The traveler introduced himself as 'Taron Dreth', an eminent scholar on the subject of Aetherium, or so he claimed. Recognizing my circlet as being of that metal drove him into an unexpected rage, attacking us along with his rather docile guards.

I will never understand why people are so eager to chance their lives over such petty things.

The ambush we had been expecting at the entrance to the valley came nearly seven hours late and half a province to the west: a Vampiress and a gargoyle jumped out of the woodland as we approached the gate of Falkreath. The gargoyle was a surprise, though not an overly dangerous one.

We shall be at Castle Volkihar tomorrow and, for good or ill, this business of the Dawnguard will be concluded.

Skyrim Day 081 - Eyes of the Gods

8 Sun's Dusk, 4E201

Falkreath

~~~

Serana and I left Fort Dawnguard very early in the morning, both of us desiring to reach the Glade before the afternoon and planning on leaving it at dusk.

Predictably another group of vampires assaulted us once we left Fort Dawnguard's canyon, but an ambush only works when your foe is not expecting it for the fourth time. I do wonder where these vampires are coming from and how many of them there are. Serana did not know, her suspicion was that the vampires we have been fighting are from outside the province, having been promised wealth and honors by her father in exchange for my, and presumably Serana's, death.

Facing a nearly limitless enemy is not a pleasant thought. But if Serana is correct vanquishing Lord Harkon will put an end to this business. I tactfully broached the subject of her father's death, but she laughed, stating that she has been assuming for some time now that we would be killing him. She has grown to accept this task, the constant attempts on her life by him no doubt helping in this. However, should it be possible I would prefer to kill him myself, if only to make it a bit easier on her, for she has grown on me.

The quickest way to the Ancestor Glade was via the southern road, past Riften, through the pass, then around or through what remains of Helgen. The walk was long, but mostly quiet. We were ambushed by a single vampire hiding within the mountain pass, but she was alone and no trouble. I would have had allies hiding behind us to close off a possible escape, but she was more confident and less wise than I.

Helgen was, once again, occupied by bandits. There were only three, two dying singly to my blade across their throat or in their back, the remaining to Serana's magicka. There will be more, I am certain.

As if to underscore that point three more bandits, perhaps a mile or so from Helgen, were camping along the road. They loosed arrows at us as we approached, but their bows were, for some reason, self-made and I could just about catch the arrows and toss them back with as much force. Serana, perhaps frustrated by her relative lack of involvement at Helgen, fought and killed the three of them with her magicka.

The hares they were cooking were the only things of value at the camp.

According to the Priest's directions we would have to ascend the mountains south-east of Falkreath to find the Glade. The path was supposed to be marked by a pile of stones and still was, or at least we hoped it was as we climbed the only path we found along the road with a pile of stones next to it.

The path climbed up the side of the mountain as the air, as always, grew colder, despite only being fifty feet or so higher than we were on the road. Soon we were slipping across frozen mud and blinking snowflakes out of our eyes. The view was quite nice though and the path unmolested by bandits or animals.

The Glade was set inside a cavern as just about every place in Skyrim is. Serana grumbled about the place not being particularly impressive and, as I snagged my foot on my third tree root, I was forced to agree. The Glade's entrance was overgrown with roots and weeds and generally appeared to not have been visited by anyone for quite some time.

A hole in the ceiling provided illumination for the draw knife nestled within a hollowed-out rock. I was anticipating a search, so this was a nice surprise. The tree whose bark I need to scrape off was right next to the knife. So far everything had been easy.

Then the moths gathered.

What Dexion had not explained was that the moths, once they were flying around me, would generate a yellow shimmering globe that would make it almost impossible to see. I was forced to rely on Serana to avoid plummeting off of ledges and tripping up stairs. Together we brushed past several groups of moths until I was nearly blinded, which Serana took as a sign that I was ready.

Bracing myself against the possibility of being struck sightless I opened the 'Dragon' Elder Scroll.

Opening the scroll produced a flash of light that persisted, briefly, after I closed it. Repeated openings of the scroll coalesced the light into a vaguely identifiable map of north-west Skyrim. I could see Solitude on the shore and what must have been Markarth at the end of a golden road. In-between the two was an orange rune I did not recognize, but there was nothing else of note, so by the process of elimination I figured that was where the Bow would be found.

We have been walking the entire breadth of Skyrim to thwart Lord Harkon only to discover that the artifact critical to his plan has been nearly at this door the entire time! How he failed to discover the location of the Bow before now is perplexing given the time he has had.

We were talking over our plan, trying to decide between staying overnight at Falkreath against pushing on to the cave without sleep when shouting and the sound of very heavy footsteps issued from the mouth of the cavern. Lord Harkon's people had found us once again.

They brought reinforcements in the way of two gargoyles, not trying to affect any sort of subtlety to their assault. Unfortunately for them the only way to us was via the staircase that wound down from the entrance and no more than two vampires or one gargoyle could stand before us while on it.

It is a bit bewildering that the vampires always find us after we accomplish something in conflict with their goal, but are utterly unable to get a step ahead of us despite having what seems to be limitless manpower and the collective knowledge of thousands of years. Serana expects most of whom we have been fighting are fresh "recruits" to Harkon's cause, folk who were seduced by the promise of long-life and great power instead of the farmstead or shop they were managing. Whatever the case, none of them are great warriors.

As if to underscore that point we were attacked by three more vampires while on the road to Falkreath, all with cheap iron swords they did not bother to use. This is getting tiresome.

Serana insisted on staying awake throughout the night while I stay at Dead Man's Drink in Falkreath. Tomorrow we will strike out for Darkfall cave and be one day closer to being through with this nonsense.

Skyrim Day 042 - A Mage's Child and The Red Eagle

26 Heartfire, 4E201

Another Ruined Fortress

~~~

I am looking around me and I certainly do not remember Falkreath looking like this. But then, I am not in Falkreath tonight, but another ruined fortress, surrounded by bloody, cooling bodies.

I left the ruined fortress of yesterday and made my way down the road towards the Pale Pass where I had been captured by the Legion over a month ago. Along the road lay a cavern known locally as 'Southfringe Sanctum' and said to have been occupied as late by a powerful group of necromancers and spellswords. I felt that I would have little to fear from another yet another group of bandits.

As it turned out, they were a bit more than simple bandits and had they been capable of exercising anything like caution, discipline, or strategy it would have been a hard-fought battle. But it was not. Their lookout was too busy experimenting with his camp alchemy table to notice a Khajiit sneaking up behind him with a dagger and a list of other things to do after his death.

This self-centered behavior repeated itself throughout Southfringe: two men died at their own alchemy tables inside, one at an anvil, and another with a mining pick in his hand instead of a blade. Their leader, an Orsimer I later found was called 'Bashnag', died to two thrusts of my dagger while he was studying an enchanting table.

Runil's journal was in a chest sitting on the floor next to the table, but as I turned to leave with it I heard a woman's voice begging to be let free. There was no one in the main chamber, but pushing aside some small, hardy bushes revealed a small passage directly behind where Bashnag had been standing.

The voice belonged to Selveni Nethri, a former necromancer of Bashnag's. Accused of practicing necromancy in Riften, she was driven off and her daughter taken to the local orphanage. Selveni wandered around for days in grief and confusion before finding Bashnag's mages, whom she successfully ingratiated herself with. However, she had not forgotten her daughter and stole away back to Riften for a few days in an effort to find her child. The orphanage no longer had her and Selveni crept back to the Sanctum to plan her next move.

But Bashnag had noticed her absence and accused her of conspiring with the Thalmor, an unlikely happenstance given that Selveni is a Dunmer. Bashnag used some sort of spell to drain Selveni's magicka and chased her deeper into the Sanctum, eventually trapping her in the spiderweb I cut her down from.

Unable to cast her spells, she asked that I make sure the way out was clear. I agreed and she kept well behind me as I left the Sanctum, though nothing further barred our way. We stepped outside together and she wished me well, stating that she was planning on traveling the rest of the province to find her daughter. I wished her luck, though the difficulty of such a task must weigh heavily upon her.

With Runil's journal in my possession I began the walk back through Helgen and to Falkreath. Nature offered me a chance to try my new soul-trapping spell and after a short battle I was the somewhat proud owner of a soul gem occupied by a Spriggan. We all start somewhere.

The old Altmer had mostly concerned the journal with his daily religious responsibilities, but one entry complained of nightmares he felt originated from his time with the Thalmor (interesting!) during the Great War. In the nightmares he was leading his battlemages against the Imperials, but this time there were great creatures in the sky, swooping down on friend and foe alike, killing indiscriminately. A Dragon or perhaps several Dragons, he did not make note of it.

One of these Dragon-dreams suddenly shifted him to his present role in life and the dream hinted at a great power just out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned to look, it disappeared with the roaring of a Dragon. Then he woke up. Yet another mention of Dragons, this time by someone uninterested in them. A portent of things to come? Or just the manifestation of an old soldier's guilt? I doubt Runil knows.

With that task complete, I looked to my journal for one that might be close to Falkreath. I had written a reminder to investigate the rumors of an ancient Forsworn warlord known as 'Red Eagle' who lived during the First Era. According to my notes, it was said that his blade was still kept by the Forsworn with their hope to use it one day to summon his spirit and drive everyone else out of Skyrim.

I rank the Forsworn just below Draugr in brains and co-habitability and the thought of stealing their hope away was an appealing one.

Before leaving Falkreath I traded in my bow and arrows for another crossbow and bolts. The crossbow may be heavier, but it is much easier to use, especially when I do not wish to be seen. Lod was pleased with his acquisition of my Glass bow, an item he assured me would not be languishing in his shop for long.

Back on the road I went. I briefly stopped at the side of the road to examine a small pond and was quite alarmed to turn around and see a glowing red door set into the hillside behind me.

The door was solid stone and carved with the visage of a skull with a bloody hand-print. Underneath it lay a skeletal corpse sitting atop a pile of more skulls, one of which had a dagger embedded in it. Clearly style meant more to the group behind the door than subtlety, whomever they were.

Curious, I knocked on the door and a rasping voice responded, asking me what the music of life was. I guessed the lute and was coldly rebuffed. Oh well. I never much enjoyed the lute anyway.

The resting place of the warlord 'Red Eagle' was somewhere between Markarth and Solitude, but I guessed that the ancient Forsworn would be closer to his people than otherwise. It took me a but of exploring, but my hunch proved to be correct,  though I would not realize that until after dispatching a small host of Forsworn.

It was night when I found the decaying remains of what appeared to be a temple cut into the hillside. Stairs led the way further up the hills, but Forsworn were all over the area, making me suspect at the time that I had found the resting place of Red Eagle.

The Forsworn lack the magicka-enhanced senses of the Draugr and, aided by the night, I probably slew two dozen of the bizarre cultist-rebels without them realizing they were even under attack. One was seated upon a throne at the conclusion of the stairways and upon his body was a key and a chipped, rusted sword with a minor enchantment. Trusting my hunches again, I figured it to be the legendary blade, poor as it looked.

A nearby pamphlet described the ritual to raise Red Eagle from his rest: bathe the ancient blade in human blood and present it at a nearby cairn creatively named 'Rebel's Cairn'. There was also a chant to accompany the return of the blade and I was curious to see what would actually happen if I went through with it all.

But by then it was after midnight and it had been a very long, busy day for me. I may nap for a few hours in one of the Forsworn tents, then see about this ritual.

Skyrim Day 031 - Azura's Fallen Star

16 Heartfire, 4E201

Falkreath

~~~

My night spent on the wrecked ship amid splatters of frozen blood was not a pleasant one and I do not thing I actually slept at all. I thought I would walk back to the College to thaw out my limbs and spend the rest of the day practicing my Illusion spells. While walking back to the College, why not stop by the very large shrine to Azura? Why not indeed.

From what I remember hearing the statue was built by Dunmer migrants fleeing the destruction of Vvardenfell. The statue was a sign of their gratitude for Azura having guided them safely out of the broken province of Morrowind. I cannot quite see how Azura helped them at all really, perhaps stopping the destruction of the city of Vivec might have been more helpful, but who am I to judge a Daedric Prince?

I remember Azura being prominent during my rise to Nerevarine, but so much time has passed that I actually remember very little of my time on Vvardenfell. Fragments of memories mostly...fighting a Ash Vampire beneath a volcano, a few hazy memories of a small fortified outpost gifted to me by the now-extinct House Redoran, the damp fishing village that I spent my first nights at, things like that. I barely remember Dagoth Ur, Vivec, or Almalexia. I spent some time on Solstheim, but I do not think I accomplished much there.

The shrine was larger than I thought, most of it consisting of a foundation with a small campsite laid on top of it. The camp belonged to a worshiper named 'Aranea Ienith' who lived her life literally at Azura's feet, Aranea kept the shrine and surrounding area clean and tidy while occasionally fighting off wolves and bears. She had her back turned to me as I stepped in front of the altar, but turned quickly, declaring that, at last, Azura's champion had come.

To say I was a bit taken aback by this remark would be understating it, for I thought she was referring to my time as the Nerevarine. Dunmer generally live long and I have no doubt that there are a few alive today that were alive at the fall of Dagoth Ur hundreds of years ago. Aranea continued on and I realized that she spoke of me as someone who would be declared champion following a task done for Azura. I suspect anyone else could have walked up those steps and had that dropped on their shoulders.

I agreed to the task, feeling that I may as well for old time's sake, as they say. The job was predictable: fetch an artifact of Azura's, the infamous 'Azura's Star' soul gem, and bring it back to the shrine. Aranea said that Azura told her that there was a mage in Winterhold that could direct me to the artifact and bid me good luck. Once again I was doing Azura's bidding, but there are worse Princes to associate with than the Lady of Twilight.

Winterhold was very close to the shrine, so I had some sunlight to make use of yet. I thought to wander around in an effort to locate another Dwemer ruin and much to my surprise I found a Falmer hut on the surface next to a pit lined with Dwemer stonework, somewhat to the west of Azura's shrine.

The expedition was a complete failure. Save for an interesting star-studded ceiling in the final chamber, the ruin contained no cogwheels and too much Falmer, the latter of which I did my best to rectify.

After wasting several hours there I ascended back to the surface and made my way to Winterhold for Azura's mage, the Altmer 'Nelacar'. I found him in the local inn, not the College, drinking in a private room while grumbling to himself. When I approached him about Azura's Star he denied any and all involvement until I told him that Azura herself had marked him. Then he was very eager to cooperate.

Nelacar had not taken the Star, but he knew who had: a former College instructor named 'Malyn Varen'. Sick and dying, he had started experimenting with the Star in an effort to prolong his life, but his work resulted in the death of a student and he was banished from Winterhold entirely. Malyn left with a few loyal students and took up residence in an old Imperial fortress north of Falkreath, a not-delightfully long walk from Winterhold.

I will admit that it was nice to be in the relatively warm southern region of Skyrim again, though it was close to midnight before I was even close to the ruined fort. The former Fort Ilinalta sits along the shore of Lake Ilinalta, collapsed and slowly sliding into the water. This makes it an ideal location for nefarious deeds, but it is anyone's guess as to how much longer it can remain serviceable for any use.

The entrance to the fort was gained via a trapdoor atop the keep and a grisly sight awaited me: a skeleton tied to a cross, evidently the unwilling subject of Malyn's experiments.

Necromancers are quickly becoming my favorite enemy, they are not particularly bright fighters and rely far too heavily on their undead to handle the messy details. With two of J'zargo's botched flame scrolls in my robes they had no chance at all. I think one of the necromancers died from bone splinters flying about following the destruction of several skeletons via explosive fire from Winterhold. The others mostly succumbed to slit throats or perforated lungs, their undead servants being very poor at spotting and warning of an increasingly sneaky Khajiit.

One of them had a rare Black soul gem which I smashed into very small pieces. Living for as long as I have has given me a good deal of tolerance for the questionable behavior of others, but trapping the souls of other people is unforgivable.

I found Malyn in a chamber full of skeletons, blood, and wet strands of flesh sticking to nearly every surface. It was as if a group of people had  huddled together before exploding all at once. The smell was indescribable.

The late College instructor was busy penning a novella before his flesh graced the walls, the title arrogantly described his achievement as victory over Daedra by a "Master Enchanter". Inside he crowed that he had achieved immortality, a two-edged blessing at best, as I would certainly know. Azura's Star lay at his skeletal feet, but it was cracked and dull. Aranea may know how to repair it.

The warm night air came as a welcome relief from the damp of the ruin and the road to Falkreath was devoid of thieves, wolves, and assassins. Once again I reached a bed just as everyone around me was reaching breakfast, I just hope I do not sleep the entire day away.

Skyrim Day 010 - A Dog's Life

26 Last Seed, 4E201

Haemar's Shame

~~~

I wish I had not attempted to find more work before leaving Falkreath for good, for it has led me on quite a strange trip and one I wish I had not needed to have made.

Jarl Siddgeir had thought of another task for me during the night. More bandits were bothering his Hold, this time a group which had taken over one of the Hold's few mining operations, this one at a mine called 'Bilegulch Mine' north-west of the town. According to his Steward the quickest way to the former mine was to go back to the lumber mill where the slightly off-putting woman worked at, then leave the road while staying close to the mountains.

At the crossroads between Falkreath and the lumber mill sits an old watchtower that I had not paid much attention to before.

Curiosity got the better of me and circled around the small hill the tower was built upon until I found the path upwards...towards a impaled, bloody skeleton in front of the gate. Fairly warned I stepped inside the ruin with axe and shield at the ready. I was rather dismayed to find myself being charged at by the resurrected corpse of a young female Khajiit at the top of the stairs, but a quick shove sent her tumbling off of the tower and to her final rest.

The necromancer suffered a far worse fate: with his servant suddenly deceased he ran at me brandishing a dagger, but he was on the top of the tower and I still on the stairwell. A single swing of my axe took his right foot off at the ankle and he crashed to the stone floor with a scream. A stab to the back of the head finished him off.

I found nothing of value at the necromancer's lair and left the corpse there as a warning to any others that may be contemplating such a cruel vocation.

Reaching the lumber mill I proceeded off the road and into the forest once again. After only a few minutes of walking I began to hear the sounds of a battle raging ahead of me. Anticipating Thalmor I cautiously approached, but the melee was between Stormcloaks and Legionnaires. By the time I was close enough to help the battle was over, with the Legion being the victor by virtue of having one soldier left alive.

The soldier stumbled away towards the road, ignoring my offers of assistance and left me in care of the bodies. I could not bring myself to search them for coin and as I had no shovel I left them where they fell.

Bilegulch Mine is set atop a little plateau jutting out from the circle of mountains that encompasses Skyrim west of Falkreath. As has always been the case so far the site was protected by a wooden palisade and I could not see any bandits patrolling about. The only hint of habitation was the harsh rhythm of someone working a piece of metal behind the fortification.

The palisade's gate was not barred and swung open surprisingly quietly, allowing me to enter the camp undetected. Despite this advantage I was able to only shoot down one bandit before alerting the others, all of them Orsimer and very angry.

What followed might have been amusing for someone to watch: a Khajiit running and leaping among the rocks and small buildings of the camp while a gang of bandits chased after her to and fro. Eventually I was able to make a run for a narrow path leading to the mine entrance at the top of the plateau and the group was forced to fight me one at a time, severely cutting into their advantage and allowing me to live another day. They were not as lucky.

My reason for being at Bilegulch was the bandit leader, an Orc described to me as old, experienced, and very dangerous. None of the bandits I slew outside of the mine were particularly old, so I guessed he (or she!) would be found inside.

I was correct. As soon as I entered the mine I heard his humming of some sort of song, apparently unaware that his little band was collectively deceased. The bandits had put in the effort to ensure the cave was well lit, so sneaking was not likely to work, at least for one as unskilled in that art as I am.

Had he been armed more conservatively I might have had more of a difficult time in fighting him. As it was, the old Orc carried a huge two-handed Orsimer battle-ax and even with his strength the great weapon took several seconds to swing. A single blow might have cleaved me in half, but that was a blow he never landed. Our little dance began to follow what for him was a very frustrating pattern: he would bring the ax over his shoulder for a mighty swing, I would dash in with my small Dwemer ax and strike at him or hit him with my shield, then I would dash backwards as his ax began to come down. Three times he struck the cavern wall and once my shield, ruining it with a single blow.

But he eventually began to falter and slow down as the dozens of minor wounds I had inflicted began to tell. Finally he pulled his ax back, lost his footing, and went down. I leaped at him and buried my ax's spike into the back of his helmet before he could stand back up.

His battle ax was probably worth a bit of coin, but I could not come up with any way to carry it back to Falkreath other than by wielding it and its weight made that out of the question. I left it with the Orc who I had given a "good death" to and pocketed a plain gold ring I found in a chest deeper inside the mine.

On my way back to Falkreath I came up a rare sight: a hideous Hagraven in combat with a Spriggan.

They had not noticed me, so I knelt behind a rock and watched the two of them flail away at each other. Contrary to my expectation the Spriggan emerged victorious, only to receive an arrow in the chest, ending its life. Skyrim can be a cruel place.

As if to drive that point home, further down the road I came upon an overturned wagon with the body of a male Khajiit sprawled in front of it and his horse dead some distance away.

The wagon was very small and what remained of his wares were cheap trinkets, utensils, cookware, things such as that. I wished his soul a quick journey and left the sad sight behind me.

For reclaiming Bilegulch Mine for the city of Falkreath I was awarded seven hundred and fifty Septims and the right to purchase a home in the city should I ever take leave of my senses and want to settle here. He offered to make me Thane of Falkreath, but the suggestion smelled of politics and I do not think I would be happy serving under such an inexperienced leader. I politely declined and received his shrug of indifference in response.

He suggested I spend more time in the city and see if the townspeople needed assistance with anything...which would pretty much be doing his or his Steward's job. Still, helping people tended to pay well in Skyrim, so I agreed and planned to extend my stay in Falkreath for a few more days.

Had I known what would happen next I would be halfway to the Imperial City by now.

I left the Jarl's Hall and walked around aimlessly for awhile, sold some pelts at the trader's and was stopped by a guard on my way out. He told me that the local blacksmith, a fellow creatively named 'Lod', had seen a dog on the road and was willing to pay someone to fetch it for him. Simple enough.

The dog saw me and willingly approached and I thought my job would be done within a few minutes, but then it stopped, stared at me, and a voice suddenly burst from within my skull with a very strange accent. The voice stated that I was exactly what he had been looking for. Shocked, I asked the dog if the voice was his doing and the voice replied that Skyrim had "flying lizards and two-legged cats", so I should not be surprised by a talking dog. I do not think that a fair point.

The dog introduced himself as 'Barbas' and naturally even a talking dog needed me to do something for him. Apparently he and his "master" had an argument which resulted in Barbas and his master being forcibly separated. Barbas now sought a reunion to smooth things over and needed my help in order to reach his master once again.

Unfortunately his master was Clavicus Vile, the Daedric Prince of wishes which he typically granted in unusual and unexpected ways. According to the tales, these ways were often harmful to the wish's requester while still remaining within the nature of the wish. Needless to say he is never to be trusted, a caution that probably all the Daedric Princes are deserving of.

I was not thrilled by becoming involved with Clavicus Vile, but I agreed to escort Barbas to his master's shrine in a cave Barbas called 'Haemar's Shame' for the adventure of the thing and to get away from Falkreath for awhile. He warned me that the former tomb was a long walk from Falkreath, but the afternoon was still young and we both set off towards Helgen and past that, Clavicus Vile.

We had not gone very far before being assaulted from a figure that sprang out from the bushes alongside the road. Barbas ran off and I found myself in a fight against a Khajiit in dark clothes and a hood. She was wielding two daggers, but even without my shield she was little match against my ax. She likely was relying on surprise rather than skill and had not enough of either to overcome me with. A letter on her body dictated that I was to die due to the "Black Sacrament" having been performed, but what this is and who performed it is a mystery. The letter stated that payment had been received for the contract on my life and was signed by an "Astrid". Seems like the Thalmor are not the only group who wants me dead and just as with the Thalmor I am mystified as to why.

By the time Barbas and I arrived at 'Haemar's Shame' it had grown very dark, cold, and snowy, hardly ideal traveling conditions. The former tomb was no more hospitable and with the hostile vampire clan residing within it, actually a great deal less.

Rather than run away, Barbas simply ran through the vampires and to his master's shrine leaving me to wade through the tomb's occupants as they did their best to kill me. However, when I did reach the shrine there were two dead vampires next to Barbas, so perhaps he is worth something in a fight after all.

Clavicus Vile was not pleased at the return of his faithful hound, but was at the granting of his follower's wishes. He explained that the vampires had come to him requesting a cure from their disease and behold, I arrived and killed them all. Cure given. Like I pointed out earlier, Clavicus Vile can never be trusted. I suppose I should feel bad, but not one of them stopped attacking me to explain why they were at 'Haemar's Shame' to begin with.

But bringing Barbas back to the shrine was not enough. Clavicus Vile insisted that I bring an artifact of his to him, a weapon he called the 'Rueful Axe'. Coincidentally it was being held by someone in a place called 'Rimrock Barrow' which Barbas could lead me to, if he was willing. When I asked Barbas about it he replied that he knew where it was: on the opposite side of Skyrim along the coast.

Of course.

But it is late and I have no desire to go back out into the cold and the dark. As distasteful as I find it I shall be spending the night here by the shrine of Clavicus Vile. Tomorrow Barbas and I will begin our very, very long walk.

Skyrim Day 009 - Marked by the Thalmor

25 Last Seed, 4E201

Falkreath

~~~

I found 'Oakflesh' to be beyond my capabilities like all my other spells, but resolved to explore the area around Falkreath while working my way towards the bandit group the Jarl urged me to destroy. I was told they had taken up residence in front of an old mine to the north-west, so I guessed it would be easiest to simply walk alongside the mountains until I found the camp.

Following a small path winding towards the mountains brought me almost immediately to a ruined castle garrisoned by bandits nearly a stone's throw away from Falkreath. It does appear that Whiterun is not the only Hold with bandit problems and I suspect I shall find more of the same as I continue to travel.

The Orc patrolling the battlements over the fortress's gate stared at me as I walked by, but made no motion towards alerting his fellows of my presence or shooting at me with his bow. I suppose I do not appear a wealthy mark with my plain, somewhat tattered clothing. Deception is often the greatest defense.

I was not even outside of the sentry's sight when I was suddenly charged by a necromancer and one of his undead thralls. The errant mage was wielding a simple dagger in one hand and lightning magicka in the other: a sound strategy against a fellow mage. Against a surprised Khajiit with a long sword, not very sound at all. He fell after a stab to the gut and his useless thrall dissolved into nothing as his life seeped out of his stomach.

Beyond his pathetic attempt on my life was his campsite, complete with a bloodied altar crowded with the remains of his failed attempts to raise the dead.

I found nothing of value other than the satisfaction of removing such a person from Tamriel.

North of his illicit studies lay a far more disturbing sight: a burned wagon, a dead horse, and two corpses burnt beyond any recognition.

The ground around the wagon was burnt to ash in a neat circle. The wagon's cargo was inside several wooden crates, all of which were blackened but otherwise undamaged. The contents confirmed my suspicion: dragon fire directed at the enemies of the Stormcloaks: the Imperial Legion. Shielded by the sturdy crates, the Legionnaire armor had survived the blast without any damage but I was loathe to carry such conspicuous garb in a region clearly not safe for those wearing it.

After walking along the mountains for about twenty more minutes I came to the realization that I had been walking into a dead end, my time wasted. So I turned around and proceeded along the opposite side of the valley I was trying to leave, guessing that the mountains would still lead me towards the bandits.

While I was walking along I noticed a gang of three Altmers clad entirely in black sneaking towards me, apparently unaware they had been spotted. I quickly changed direction to a outcropping of rock in front of me hoping to gain some height advantage, but my change of pace was evidently too obvious and one of them shouted and all of a sudden I was under attack by spell and sword.

Such was my first encounter with the Thalmor, a group the Stormcloaks and the Legion could happily fight together against if the politics ever allowed such a thing. They were far more powerful than any bandits I have fought and they worked together unerringly. I found myself becoming overwhelmed and nearly surrounded when the fortunate arrival of a pack of wolves distracted two of my assailants. I smashed the remaining Thalmor against a large rock and stabbed her through the back until she stopped screaming, then turned against the other two. One I killed while he was busy fighting off two wolves, the other I had to fight after he killed his single wolf and the two his late friend had been busy with.

Skilled though they were, their strength seemed to have relied heavily on teamwork and one-on-one they were easily kept on the defensive and not one of the three had shields so this was a losing proposition for them.

On each of them was a paper classifying me as an "extremely dangerous" enemy to the Thalmor who is to be killed with "extreme hatred". Whoever wrote the declaration must have enjoyed going to extremes. I am also described as being able to skillfully defend myself despite nearly losing my life to a Sabre Cat just the other day.

I have no idea what prompted this interest in me, nor what I could have possibly done to bring about such a sudden and violent persona. I am certain that I have never harmed any of the Thalmor nor worked against the Aldmeri Dominion, yet I am now marked by them for death. The only thing I can think of is that someone recognized me from long ago and the Dominion is interested in learning the secret to my unnatural longevity, but I cannot picture who this person might be.

After all I had dealt with up until then, I still needed to find the Jarl's group of bandits, kill them, and return to Falkreath in one piece. After an hour of walking through the wet, rainy forest I finally found the camp the Jarl had described: Knifepoint Ridge

The sentry atop the watchtower fell with an arrow in his chest and I killed two other bandits just as silently from atop the tower myself. The camp was built in front of a former mine and the leader of the little group would likely be found there. I was correct, but the man was stunningly standing in a pile of spilled lamp oil and a shot from my bow tipped a lantern on to it, transforming the man into a screaming pillar of flames. And with that Knifepoint Ridge was clear until the next group of bandits came along.

Among the useless contraband the bandits had acquired was an ancient Dwemer war axe. I kept it and will try using it myself in the next few days. I have swung many an axe in my day, though a wood-cutting axe is far different than one crafted for battle. If it does not work out I can always sell it somewhere.

Alert and on edge, I rushed towards the road and back towards Falkreath. Bandits are now the least of my concerns alongside the reminder of a rebellious Dragon flying about and the Thalmor stalking after me. The former is really someone else's problem unless I choose to get involved in Skyrim's civil war, but the latter is an insult. I have done nothing to attract the ire of the Thalmor, yet still they seem to believe I have committed some slight against them which warrants death as if I did not have enough to worry about.

Jarl Siddgeir was less than impressed with my completion of his task, languidly congratulating me and handing me a purse of one hundred Septims, a sum I do not think matched the difficulties I had.

Falkreath and its Jarl has failed to impress upon me any reason for staying longer. I will spend one more day here in an attempt to find some work, but I shall be on my way otherwise. 

Skyrim Day 008 - To Falkreath

24 Last Seed, 4E201

Falkreath

~~~

Danica was rather less than pleased to receive a small tree instead of the sap she had been expecting. She pointed out that pilgrims would be less than impressed by a tiny tree in place of the towering, though dead, 'Gildergreen'. I told her that Maurice felt that gathering the sap was not respectful of Kynareth and that devotion should come in the form of renewal, rather than maintenance. After a moment she agreed and thanked me for bringing her the sapling and leaving Maurice behind. She allowed me to keep 'Nettlebane', but I left it in the Temple, having no further use for it.

As I exited the Temple a man came running up to me, looking for the "adventurer-Khajiit" which he correctly assumed was me, in this case. He had a letter for me from the Jarl of Falkreath who wrote to invite me to come to his city so that we could discuss the possibility of work. The thought of traveling appealed to me and I felt that my business at Whiterun, for now, was finished. My descent into Bleak Falls Barrow will have to wait until I am more skilled, preferably in magic as well as in combat.

I had never been to Falkreath before, it was always too remote and small for much of the work I used to do in Skyrim. I knew it to be a town primarily known for its lumber and its graveyard for some reason. It was directly west of Helgen, but I decided to forego another trip through Riverwood and take the longer trip over the plain and through a mountain pass farther west.

My little journey began around ten in the morning and my first encounter of interest was with a ruined watchtower.

Much like the walls of the city, Whiterun's tower was more ruin than fortification, another example of the decay resulting from the Empire's decline and Skyrim's own civil war. The tower did appear to be manned by Whiterun guards anyway, so it was at least still capable of serving some sort of purpose.

Further down the road I passed a burned-out farmstead near to an almost equally-ruined fortress. The wooden palisade looked new and the collection of individuals patrolling the battlements were dressed in leathers or hides, likely another group of bandits.

I kept to the road and they ignored me. I did notice that they had erected dummies along the battlements to make it appear they were more numerous, a clever idea for a group of bandits, though I wonder who they believe they are scaring off. It is obvious Whiterun does not have the resources to dedicate towards their eradication.

Along the road I came upon an Orc standing next to the bodies of two freshly-slain Sabre Cats, Skyrim's rather nastier version of Cyrodiil's common bear. He appeared uninterested in the corpses and I asked him why he was simply standing next to the road. The Orc refused to name himself, stating that he was simply an old warrior waiting for the "good death" that was promised to him. By who, he did not say. I was certainly not about to challenge a warrior capable of slaying two such beasts at once and wished him luck before continuing on.

Near a road-side farm I noticed a collection of stones that seemed to have been placed there purposely. There was no one tending to the farm that I could see, so I quietly walked through the farmstead and to the stones. Each one had a pedestal upon which a stone embedded with pictures of an animal spun. Nearby there was a lever and I soon deduced that spinning the pedestals to the correct animal would allow the lever to open the grate in front of the stones, underneath which lay a skeleton and a chest.

My experimentation with the pedestals proved frustrating and was cut short by a rhythmic thudding occurring behind me. I was admittedly frightened to see that the sound was from the approach of two Giants!

Perhaps the site was of some significance to them, perhaps it was merely a coincidence, but I was not interested in finding out. I immediately ran away from them further into the plain and away from the road. Other than a hunter attempting to train his dog I found little of interest as I worked my way back to the road and Falkreath.

The road turned through the mountains towards Falkreath and I came upon my own possibility of a "good death" right at the signpost. There was no way of me knowing that a Sabre Cat was just up the hill chasing a fox and when I turned to walk through the pass the cat suddenly spun around and charged right towards me: an unarmored Khajiit with a light wooden shield, a sword, and spells she could not yet cast.

Battling the Sabre Cat was a brutal experience. It was far stronger and possessed a predatory sort of cunning in its tactics. After circling me for several moments it charged, biting at my shield and attempting to rake its claws across my chest and face before disengaging and returning to circling. This cycle was repeated several times to its advantage, but finally I caught the timing of its attack and managed to kick it in the head before driving my blade between its eyes, splitting its skull in half.

The fight was far more difficult than any bandit I have encountered and the Orc must be quite a warrior indeed to be able to slay two of these Sabre Cats at once! As for me I fared far more poorly, my clothing in tatters and blood streaking my fur. I was forced to sit alongside the cat's cooling corpse for a few minutes to let Dagoth Ur's special blessing do its helpful work after which I turned towards my foe and claimed its pelt for later sale. Clearly I have far to go in combat abilities as yet.

Fortunately that was my last fight for the day and the walk to Falkreath was peaceful after I almost died. I passed a lumber mill along a lake and spoke with the owner for a little bit. Her name is 'Hert', a rather un-Nordic name and though she was pleasant and talkative there was just something about her that did not seem right to me. She did not know anything about the sunken fortress opposite her mill and I left quickly despite her invitation to stay longer.

The pass between the mountains where I fought the Sabre Cat separates the plain from the heavily wooded area around Falkreath. Soon after the mill the road became much narrower as trees and grasses encroached upon it from both sides and the cobblestones gave way to simple dirt.

Falkreath was hardly the "city" the Jarl's letter had described. It look more like a large settlement that somehow grew within a massive forest. Despite it's humble appearance the town's trading post had some powerfully enchanted items, one of them a circlet the shopkeeper said would aid me in archery, an aid I could surely use if I could have afforded the jewelry. Instead I sold him what little I had collected between Whiterun and Falkreath and purchased some healing potions and a spell tome called 'Oakflesh' that would make my skin resistant to damage for a short period of time. It remains to be seen if I can cast it now.

The local alchemist had more healing potions to sell, as well as ingredients for me to create more with. When I fought the Sabre Cat I had none on me at all, a mistake I will be sure not to make from now on.

My last order of business for the day was the reason for the trip: to visit the Jarl about this work he claimed needed doing. His wood-and-straw Hall was much less impressive than Dragonsreach and the man inside reflected that lack of grandeur.

The man was young, brash, and utterly disinterested in his position other than that it afforded him the finest foods, drinks, and hunts. Any tasks other than eating, drinking, or hunting fell upon Falkreath's steward, an Altmer named 'Nenya'. The Jarl's important task he wrote to me about turned out to be the elimination of a group of bandits nearby, exactly the sort of task I was not eager to accept. But I had walked nearly all day to get here, so I accepted. He never said when he wanted them eliminated, after all and he will likely forget he asked me as soon as I leave the Hall.

Falkreath's inn, as well as every other place of business, is named with a nod towards the town's famous graveyard (which I have yet to see), making the inn the 'Dead Man's Drink'. Charming. Ten coins bought me a room without a door for the night, prompting me to write this entry as long as possible so that the rest of the guests will have left when I finally settle down to sleep. I hope to visit this famous graveyard of Skyrim tomorrow and will scout the approach to the Jarl's bandit group as well. If I can kill one or two of them before melee combat then I feel I shall have a good chance, especially if my 'Oakflesh' spell is something I can comfortably cast.